


Please Don't Forget

by Alien_Invasion



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Heathens, Prison, Rape, Sexual Violence, forest fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7412101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alien_Invasion/pseuds/Alien_Invasion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler gets a new cell-mate, and suddenly his world changes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Don't Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [stay in place (sing a chorus)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822504) by [SoloChaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloChaos/pseuds/SoloChaos). 



> Heavily influenced by both the Heathens music video (By Twenty One Pilots, of course) and the "Forest Fic" aka "Stay In Place [Sing A Chorus]" by SoloChaos. I suggest you read that one first! (GOOD LUCK)

* * *

* * *

 

 

_The kicking stops after about a minute. After that, once I’ve let go, he just lies there, silent and still. Panic rages through my veins, my hands shake, and all around me starts to fade to black._

  
It’s the same nightmare I've had every night since I arrived here. I lay there on the top bunk on my first night, listening to the clanging of bars somewhere in the cell block, just like I do every night when I wake from my nightmare.

  
I never see who it is I’m strangling, and I never know why, but it always feels real. It always feels like a... premonition. Or whatever you call it. It scares me.

  
It’s not like I have no reason to be locked in here. I’ve done my crimes, and now I’m doing my time. A lot of time – I was 18 when I got here. But, the nightmare still scares me. Murder is a lot different to manslaughter and arson.

  
My heart pounds, still rushing from the panic of my nightmare. I try to close my eyes and fall back asleep, but the clanging of the bars and the snoring of my new cellmate make this impossible.

  
I toss in my bunk, turning to face the wall, and have to stop myself from wincing in pain when I put too much pressure on my newly bruised ribs. Just when my other bruises heal I get a new batch to keep me awake at night. I scowl at my wall, straining my eyes in the dim light to where I have a list etched into the paint.

  
_I AM REAL  
PETE IS REAL_ _  
BRENDON IS REAL  
ALEX IS REAL  
BRIAN IS REAL  
MATT IS REAL  
SPENCER IS REAL_

  
I lift my pillow and find the loose screw in the metal bunk frame which I unscrew quietly. Holding it to the wall I add a name to my list. My new cellmate.

  
_JOSH IS REAL_

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
I must have fallen asleep eventually, because next thing I am being yelled into consciousness by the usual morning guard.

  
“GET A MOVE ON, JOSEPH, BREAKFAST ENDS IN A HALF HOUR.”

  
I sit up painfully and squint at him to which he just rolls his eyes and keeps going along the hall. My new cellmate, Josh, is standing by the gate waiting for me. He has a sheepish look on his face.

  
“Could you.. uh.. show me where the mess hall is?”

  
“Sure,” I say simply, still not entirely sure what to make of him.

  
He runs his hands over his freshly-shaved head and gets this almost pained look on his face.

  
“It’ll grow back soon enough.”

  
He smiles weakly at me, following as I lead him from our cell towards the hall for breakfast.

  
“It used to be red.”

  
“What did?” I don’t look over at him when he speaks. Instead, I keep my eyes on our surroundings. The last thing I need is a surprise attack from anyone.

  
“My hair. It was bright red. Before that it was blue and purple and green. I’ve always had it different colours. I kinda hid behind it? Now it’s gone, I feel naked.”

  
I nod at him and give him a small half-smile before walking through the double doors that lead to the mess hall. It’s bustling, but no more than usual. I can see Pete’s clique sitting at one of the far tables as usual and he sees me coming in, too.

  
“HEY, JOSEPH!” he hollers, “YOU READY FOR OUR DATE LATER?”

  
Pete’s clique all laugh, Brendon even claps, and I can feel Josh startle behind me.

  
“Ignore him,” I tell Josh, grabbing a tray from the pile and making my way down the food line, “you don’t need to get onto Pete’s radar. Trust me.”

  
He nods slowly, and I can see him inhaling and exhaling slowly as he follows me down the line. He scrunches up his face at the slop that gets piled onto his plate, but says nothing.

  
By the time I finish, Josh has only managed to force about half the slop down. I feel bad for the guy – I’ve gotten used to the food over the years. I don’t even remember much of what ‘real’ food tastes like.

  
“Come on, there’s no use. You’ll probably throw it all up later anyway.” I grab his sleeve and pull him away from the mess hall and towards the showers.

  
It’s yard time, really, but I always shower at this time. Technically, we’re not allowed to, but they pull security to the yard during this hour. I poke my head around a corner and watch the guard in the bathroom corridor leaving. Then I’m tugging at Josh’s sleeve again.

  
Josh’s right arm is covered in a gorgeous colourful tattoo. That’s one of the first things I notice when he undresses to shower. The second thing is that he’s pretty ripped. Thereafter, I have to force myself to look away. I see him do the same. I don’t blame him. My torso is still covered in yellow-faded bruises and still-pink scars. I wouldn’t want to look at me either. In fact, I don’t.

  
I busy myself in the shower, only allowing myself to bask in the hot water once I’ve shampooed my hair and soaped my body. It falls over me like a scorching waterfall, onto my neck and back, over my shoulders, down my chest. The burn is good. Hot is good. When I switch off and wrap my towel around my waist Josh is already waiting for me. He hasn’t learned to bask yet – to appreciate the water and the alone time. He will soon enough.

  
We leave the bathroom the same way we went in – with me peeking around the door and signalling when the coast was clear. I don’t have to grab his sleeve this time; I can feel him always on my heels.

  
When we get to the yard for line-up we barely get noticed. I’m glad Josh is at least quiet. It means I can keep him with me while I do my usual sneaking around. I don’t know why I feel like I need to protect him, but I do. I guess it’s because he seems so innocent, like he is so unaware of the evil in the world. I don’t want him to end up like me.

  
The guard comes down the line and checks everybody off. Pete or Brendon or somebody further down causes a scene and we get held up for another run-through. By the time he gets to me, at the end of the line save for Josh, the guard is already pissed off and edging to leave. He doesn’t even check my name off before the line disperses and the other inmates return to their cells or to the rec room. He sighs at me and jerks his head in the direction of the rec room.

  
Josh doesn’t want to mingle with the others, for which I am thankful, so instead we go to the cell we share. I figure I can at least catch up on some sleep.

  
“Hey, um, Joseph?” Josh speaks as soon as my eyes have fluttered shut.

  
“Tyler,” I mutter, turning my head to face him, “Joseph is my last name.”

  
“Oh, sorry.” He turns the pink of my scars.

  
“Don’t worry about it. I get it a lot. What’s up?”

  
He stands over at the small basin in the corner of the cell, picking plaster off the wall with his fingernail.

  
“What are you in for?”

  
“Arson. Manslaughter. Involuntary.” It comes out slightly more robotic than I intended. As if I’ve told people so many times that it’s become automatic. That’s not the case, really. Nobody ever asks me that. “How ‘bout you?”

  
He looks up for a second and then stares intently at the paint flecks he picked off that are now on the floor.

“I uh,” his voice goes squeaky and he clears his throat, “Manslaughter, too.”

  
I nod, turning my head to look up at the ceiling.

  
“Is that your family?” he asks quietly. I see him looking up at the ceiling above my bunk to where I had stuck a photograph. I nod.

  
The photo hardly brings with it any memories anymore. It was too long ago. The kid in the photo posing with his younger brothers and sister was barely Tyler Joseph. I study all of the faces, repeating their names in my head over and over. The way I do every time I see the photo.

  
_Zack, Madison, Jay, Zack, Madison, Jay._

  
Jay, who had been 7 or 8 when I was sentenced, would be 18 this year – the age I was when I last saw him. There was a 10 year difference between us, and I have been here for 10 years after all.

  
I get the same empty feeling in my stomach I always get when I remember. Like someone has their hands around my insides and is squeezing tight.

  
When I look back at Josh he is staring at me. His eyes filled with what I can only let myself believe is concern. The alternative, that he is judging me, is too much to bear. He says nothing. I turn back over, facing my list, gritting my teeth against the pain of my bruised ribs, and force myself to sleep.

 

* * *

  
  
It’s unavoidable. When Pete and his clique take me by surprise a few days later, throwing me to the ground and re-injuring my semi-healed bones, Josh looks on in horror.

  
We had been walking to the showers after breakfast. Josh and I were discussing music – we discovered we were both self-taught. Josh drums, he told me, and said that he misses his kit. He misses his hair too, I notice. He drags his fingers across his head whenever he loses himself in thought, pulling at the short dark hair that is finally longer than a centimetre.

  
I was just telling him about how I used to write lame songs in my parents’ basement before I came here, when suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder pulling me down and a knee to my back bruising my left kidney. I should have expected it.

  
I writhed on the ground, trying to get away from the kicking feet and the pounding fists, but it appeared that Pete’s entire clique had decided to join in the activities.  
The last thing I see before the kick to my head is Josh, standing off behind the group, horror strewn across his face, his mouth open forming my name repeatedly, calling for me. I love the way his mouth forms my name.

 

* * *

  
  
I have a new array of blue and purple bruises when I come-to. I’m lying in the sickbay. Josh is there, dabbing at a cut on my face with a warm cloth. I don’t know how he was allowed in here, but I definitely do not complain. He smiles weakly at me, but then moves away when a guard walks in.

  
“Oh, good,” she says, “You’re awake. You’re lucky I was there, Joseph.” She sits on a stool beside the bed and picks up the warm cloth Josh was using, continuing where he left off.

  
My eyes dart to where he stands in the corner and I instantly wish they hadn’t. He looks sad. I don’t like the sad. I shoot him an apologetic look and pull my attention back to the guard. She has busted knuckles on her right hand, red and raw, slightly swollen. She punched someone recently.

  
“Had him out with one punch, you know.” She sees me studying her hand. “Pete Wentz – he’s an asshole, but he’s anything but a good fighter. Too narcissistic to ‘ruin his face’ or something if you ask me.”

  
I say nothing. What am I supposed to say about it anyway? That I’m weak? That I’m nothing but a whore who deserves all the bruises Pete so loves dishing out?

  
“Why don’t you ever fight back, Joseph?”

  
I turn my face away from her. I can feel her eyes watching me just as clearly as I can feel my own eyes begin to sting. Eventually she gives up on me, just like everyone else does. She gets up and walks out, pausing at the door only briefly to look back at me with a sad expression I don’t have to see to know is there.

  
I wait a good five minutes before turning over again, but when I do, I see that Josh has left.

 

* * *

  
  
He’s sitting on his bunk when I get back to our cell that night. His eyes are glazed over and he looks like he’s been crying. I wait for the guards to uncuff me and leave before I move slowly towards him.

  
“Josh?” I stop right in front of him, he looks up at me. “Josh, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean for you to.. I’m sorry I exposed you to that...”

  
Josh takes my hand. He stands, right up against me because I haven’t moved back at all. When he is right up close I notice that he is only a little bit taller than I am. He has a hole in the left side of his nose where a piercing used to be. He’s staring intently at me, studying my face the way I’m studying his. His eyes linger on the bridge of my nose and my left cheek where the morning’s events remain evident.

  
“Im oka-“ I begin to say, but his lips are on mine. Soft and sweet and chaste.

  
“I was so worried about you.”

  
I struggle to find words.

  
“Tyler, why didn’t you fight back?”

  
His hand breezes across my face gently, cold to the touch, soothing the claw-like scratches on my cheek. He’s looking at me with those eyes again. They’re dark pools of intense concern.

  
“It’s no use,” I say, shrugging, “It’s worse when I put up a fight.”

  
I wish he would stop looking sad – it’s torture.

  
“You mean, this has happened before? More than once?”  
I nod after a while, maintaining our eye contact. I see his face fall. It breaks my heart.

  
“But, Tyler... you’re stronger than that. You’re better. Pete Wentz doesn’t deserve to get the time of day from you let alone for you to be his... his...”

  
“His bitch?”

  
Josh’s breath hitches in his throat. I shrug his hand from my face and turn away.

  
“I am, okay? It’s just the way it is. You just have to... accept it.”

  
“LIGHTS OUT,” comes a call from down the block – followed by the fluorescent lights throughout the block turning off all at once. The noise in the block dulls down, but I can still hear the grunting voices of inmates complaining and the creaking of bunk beds as their occupants try to find what little comfort they can.

  
Josh steps up behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck and the intense gaze he for sure is casting upon me. A few moments pass, and then I feel Josh’s hands gingerly snaking along the waistband of my orange jumpsuit. His breath gets warmer against my ear as he comes closer, pressing against me and pulling me closer to him.

  
“Tyler, it doesn’t have to be that way. It can be good, too. If you let me, I’d like to show you.”

  
I can feel my knees trembling, and know my voice would shake too if I speak. So, instead, nervously, I nod.

  
His hands drift up my chest, unzipping my jumpsuit and pulling it back over my shoulders and down my arms. It hangs at my waist, leaving me bear-chested, allowing me to feel Josh’s hands on my stomach. His hands dance across my skin, managing to somehow avoid all of my bruises and broken ribs.

  
He’s leaving a trail of kisses across the back of my neck, soft and warm; I can feel the coarseness of his black vest against my back, and I definitely feel his hands sneaking into the lower half of my jumpsuit.

  
His grasp is gentle, which takes me by surprise. My mind immediately jumps to the first time Pete forced himself on me – the way his hands were aggressive and uncaring, leaving marks wherever they touched. Josh is not like this at all. He takes his time and his motions are fluid; at times his fingers barely grace my skin.

  
His head has come to rest on my shoulder. I can feel his hair – short remnants of cotton candy wisps – brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. But, I realize, the shivers may also be caused by the thing he is doing with his palm. I can feel my blood pumping through every vein, sending out a throbbing plea that makes my knees weak for a completely new reason. I realise... it feels good.

  
Josh pulls away, just for a moment. He rests his hands on my hips and turns me to face him. I kiss him this time; it comes out feeling needy and scared, but, thank God, Josh is a patient man. He returns my kiss with tenderness, leading me over to his bunk and allowing me to get comfortable before lowering himself, too. He hovers just an inch over me, looking down at me with his dark brown eyes that are filled with an unmistakable question.

  
“I’m okay.” I assure him, dragging my fingers through his growing-out hair and pulling him in for another kiss.

  
He dawdles, kissing slowly, gently palming me through my jumpsuit. I don’t know what to make of it, really. Usually they are so quick to force their way in that I barely have time to pretend I’m somewhere else. But Josh is different. Sincere. Cautionary.

  
He pushes my jumpsuit and my underwear down my thighs, and I help him by kicking them off the rest of the way. I feel him smile slightly into the kiss; it makes my heart jump.

  
Josh takes me in his hand properly, finally giving me a taste of what my body has been unmistakeably begging him for. I allow my own hands to drift and, once they reach the waistband of his jeans I notice he is begging for it, too.

  
Instincts kick in, an automatic reflex, and I find myself undressing him within seconds. I push against him, begin to kiss down his neck and over his collarbone. Before I can reach my destination, Josh pulls me back up to meet his eyes. He shakes his head firmly, and suddenly I am confused all over again.

  
“Wha–?”

  
“No, Tyler... This is about you, not me.”

  
His hand drapes around my wrist and he pulls my hand out from between us. Then I feel him reaching under his pillow for something – a small cylindrical bottle.

  
“Swiped it from the sickbay,” Josh says, a half-smirk on his lips. “It’s tissue oil.”

  
He kisses me again, deep and slow, his tongue dancing with mine. I lose track of his hands, my mind spinning, until in a sudden moment of realization I feel his fingers inside me. The pain is minimal, I barely felt him pressing in. When Pete’s boys have their way with me I almost always bleed. They never use lubrication, never start with fingers first, but I have learned not to scream. Even if it means biting the insides of my cheeks raw.

  
My heart races now unlike ever before, thumping inside my chest like fists against my ribcage. My broken ribs ache, but I don’t want him to stop. He removes his fingers gently, questioning me with his eyes again. I nod, fighting to catch my breath before he will inevitably pound into me. But what I feel isn’t what I expect.

  
Josh is inside me, finally, after entering me so slowly and gently that I almost cry from sheer overwhelming relief.

  
_Have I really become so conditioned to pain?_

  
He moves rhythmically, holding himself over me with one of his arms, not laying with his weight on me like I’m used to. I can feel his hips against my legs every time they buck, feel his shallow breath warm against my chest and feel the pressure inside me getting deeper. My fingers are in his hair, both arms wrapped around his neck and back. I don’t mean to but I find myself digging into his skin with my fingers.

  
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, voice breathy and rasping in the back of his throat.

  
I shake my head, and though I mean to tell him ‘no’, I only manage to let out a moan when my lips part. I suppose it gives him the go-ahead he needs, because he changes his rhythm; it’s faster this time, the momentum allowing him to go deeper and deeper inside me.

  
I can barely hold in my moans. Whatever he is doing to me is so incredibly different that I decide I don’t trust my lips to part. I am right, because the instant that his position changes he sends me into a whole new kind of head-spin. He knows exactly where to go, again and again, my every nerve standing on end as ecstasy envelopes me.

  
My mind explodes a thousand shades of colour all at once and, judging by the wet warmth across my stomach, so does the rest of me. I could die happy right then, with my heart pounding like a bass drum and my head spinning out of control. A second later, Josh shudders and fills me with the same warmth. His warmth.

  
Josh is more out of breath than I am, which makes me feel bad. I move over and he lies next to me on his bunk, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes flutter closed, but I know he’s not sleeping, because his thumb is rubbing the back of my hand.

  
“That was... wow...” I finally have my breath back, but I still struggle to speak, “Where do I even begin?”

  
Josh smiles, his teeth peeking out between his lips. “That good, huh?”

  
“Ohh yeah,” I let out a little laugh, “It was... amazing!” I turn onto my side, lean my head in my hand and study the man lying next to me. “Josh, can I say something?”

  
“Of course.”

  
“Well, I mean I… I really, truly appreciate how gentle you were with me. I have never ever been treated like that. Josh you were amazing.”

  
His eyes twinkle in the dim light, “I just want you to feel good. You deserve to know that what Pete and his clique put you through is wrong. It’s so wrong, Tyler.”

  
I nod, lean over, and kiss his cheek lightly. It’s a small gesture, but I know he feels my gratitude.

  
“You could’ve gone a bit rougher with me though,” I admit.

  
He laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  
There was no flaw in his technique, at all, believe me. But now that it was over, I couldn’t help imagining him doing more to me. And, well... I can feel myself getting hard all over again.

 

* * *

 

  
“Hey, bitch. Why the smiley happy faces all out-of-the-blue?” Pete comes out of nowhere and grips me by the back of the neck.

  
_Well, Josh’s hair has been growing back over the last couple of months, slowly but surely. He runs his fingers through it constantly and sometimes I do, too. It’s soft and wispy, baby-like almost. He smiles a lot, and says it’s because he can finally have some colour in it again, so that makes me happy, too._

  
I don’t say this.

  
“It’s because I get to see your ugly mugs,” I say instead, baring witness to the most priceless expression to ever appear on either Pete’s or Brendon’s faces.

  
Pete’s surprise almost immediately turns to a scowl, and he pinches harder into my neck. His nails cut into my skin. He looks at Brendon.

  
“You know what that’s gonna cost him?”

  
Brendon nods, a horrid grin on his over-sized mouth, “A royal whipping.”

  
Pete looks back at me with a glint in his eye, but he will not find any fear on my face. That pisses him off more. He doesn’t get it – I am way too used to his beatings.

  
Pete shakes his head, “Not now. Too many eyes. But you’ll get what’s coming to you, Tyler Joseph.”

  
He and Brendon walk away, joining their gang of idiots and leaving us alone. For the time being, at least.

  
Josh takes my hand and entwines our fingers as he leads me around a corner and down the corridor.

  
“You hungry this morning, Ty?”

  
“I guess not?”

  
“Good. I need your help with something.”

  
He drags me into the dimly lit communal toilet. The murky green walls remind me why I never come in here. It smells rank, and I somehow don’t find it hard to believe that nobody’s cleaned in here for the good part of a year.

  
Josh, still leading me by the hand, takes me over to the basins. There are two small boxes sitting there as well as rubber gloves, a hotel-bottle of shampoo and a towel. He turns to me and I see he is grinning from ear to ear, his eyes crinkled shut in pure joy. I wish he would smile like that forever.

  
“I managed to get some peroxide and dye!” He tells me, picking up the box, “It wasn’t easy, but I have some connections. Will you help me?”

  
“How could I say no?”

  
He smiles and sticks out his tongue, excitedly turning to his items on the basin and unboxing the peroxide. The box actually says “Home Highlighting Kit” on it and has a picture of a bleach-blonde bimbo on it giving the fakest smile ever, but I assume Josh knows what he’s doing.

  
He does. After forty minutes we are rinsing the paste out of his hair and revealing the much lighter cotton candy wisps atop Josh’s head. He grins, taking a small bottle and tube out of the second box.

  
The contents, once mixed, just look black to me. I trust once again that he knows what he’s doing as I help him spread the new mixture through his hair.

  
“Goodbye, blond Josh!” I whisper, putting on a false air of mourning. He giggles, winking at me in the mirror. I know he can tell I am resisting the urge to ask what colour it’s meant to be, so the fact that he isn’t telling me is making me crawl out of my skin with anticipation.

  
“Right,” he says, as we finish applying the dye mixture, “now we wait.”

  
Half an hour passes easily with Josh there. I used to have such trouble with time. I become easily bored and agitated, my hands always looking for something to do. But, with Josh, time goes by faster. There is never a dull moment. He makes me laugh, he tells me stories and asks me questions. We play stupid games and just have fun. Fun is something I haven’t experienced in pretty much a decade.

  
“Tyler! Close your eyes!” Josh says suddenly, his own eyes wide.

  
I obey, resisting every fibre in my body that’s telling me to look. I hear the taps opening and the splashing of water as Josh inevitably rinses and shampoos his hair. The shampoo smells like roses or something. I can’t tell. It devours the chemical smell and leaves me smiling and relaxed. Lavender, maybe.

  
The taps close, and I listen as Josh towel-dries his hair. He shuffles around, as evident by the noise of his shoes on the linoleum floor, and then, quite suddenly, his lips are on mine.

  
It’s brief, but sweet and soft. It lingers, but when he pulls away, my eyes are open in a flash, stepping back and taking in the magnificence that is Josh’s hair.

  
Bright, unmissible, unmistakable, electrifying blue.

  
“It’s _perfect!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Josh’s blue hair is the highlight of my week. It’s still noticeable in the dim evening light of the cell-block at night, when we lie on Josh’s bunk together and talk about our families. Josh tells me about his mother and father, about his sisters and his brother, and about how he never fitted in.

  
“They’re so strict. If you thought about the strictest parents you can imagine, mine are worse.”

  
I nod, thinking back on my own parents and realizing that I actually had it pretty good. My mother cared about my wellbeing even when she didn’t understand me, but Josh’s parents went mental at even the slightest mention of wanting to listen to music other than the few Christian bands of which they approved.

  
Josh doesn’t ask about the photograph on my ceiling, but I can tell he wants to. He keeps glancing in its direction as he speaks about his shitty family life.

  
“It’s my siblings and I at a Christmas party. I was about ten there. It’s the last good memory I have of them, really, before my parents split up.”

  
He nods, meeting my eyes in the dark. His fingers run through his blue wisps, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and doing the same. So I get up and climb onto my bunk, taking the photo off my ceiling carefully and then sitting back down next to Josh. I hand him the photo.

  
“That’s me,” I say, pointing to the stranger in the blue basketball jersey, “That’s Zack, he must’ve been eight when this was taken. The little cutie is Maddie, and the wailing baby is Jay. He’ll be eighteen this year, I guess.”

  
He looks at the old photograph intently, tracing his fingers lightly over the smiling faces, lingering on the boy in the blue basketball jersey. Then he hands it back to me, turns himself away and lays down with his head in my lap. His eyes are sad, broken almost. As if he is being nostalgic over something painful or harsh that happened. He studies my face in the dark and I finally give in to temptation and play with his hair.

  
We stay like that until Josh falls asleep. His solemn expression fades away and peace overcomes him. Within minutes, my own eyes get heavy and I feel myself drifting into a deep sleep.

  
\--

  
_My hands squeeze, my muscles tense. I am standing over him, watching the life drain away, and I feel… Nothing._

  
I sit bolt upright, my lungs burning as they draw in shallow, shaky breaths.

  
Beside me, Josh wakes and sits up, too, squinting at me in the dark.

  
“Tyler? What's wrong?”

  
“Mm, nightmare,” I force out between breaths, my heart clenching in my chest.

  
He moves closer and puts his arm around me, pulling me into a comforting hug. His arms are warm and strong, his heartbeat steady inside his chest, and he smells like hair dye and, well, Josh. Within a minute my lungs are filling normally and, although I’m still shaky, my heart seems to be doing fine, as well.

  
“Are you okay, Babyboy?”

  
I nod, trying my best not to swoon visibly.

  
He grazes his hand down my face and it rests on my neck, his eyes searching mine like they always do. I smile, attempting to avert his thoughts. I don’t speak about my nightmare. I never have. If I told anyone I was having dreams about strangling someone I would never see the light of day.

  
He seems to understand my motives, leaning in and kissing my forehead gently. He wraps his arms around me tighter, but then brings his one hand up to my face, cupping my chin and pulling my eyes up to meet his. He kisses me, the hand on my jaw falling and cupping the back of my neck. I kiss him back, wanting nothing more than this moment right here to last forever.

  
Josh makes me feel so safe, so loved. He makes me feel wanted; needed, even. I smile into the kiss and push him back so that he lies down on the bunk. I follow, of course, half-lying over his chest as I kiss him deeper. I pull back for a moment, and I am gifted by the sight of Josh, head back, eyes closed, with a look of complete and utter desire on his face.

  
“Hey, um… Remember when you said you’d keep something in mind?”

  
Josh’s eyes flutter open and a smile spreads across his face slowly, “Yeah?”

  
“Well, I was, um…” I twirl my fingers nervously in the hem of his black vest, “I was just thinking, I mean, if you wanted to…”

  
He lets out a half-laugh and sits up again, laying me down in his place and hovering over me, “All you had to do was ask, Babyboy.”

  
This time, I swoon entirely, pulling him down towards me and kissing him deeply. His tongue drags along my lower lip, instantly shooting forward when I part my lips slightly. I gasp into the kiss, a feeling of urgency pouring over me. With one hand I unzip my jumpsuit and wriggle out of it, not daring to break the kiss, wanting nothing more than for Josh to take me away from everything around us.

  
He does, as soon as his fingers twist into me. My body shudders and I let out a gasping moan in the form of his name. Josh kisses deeper, and I can almost taste desperation on his lips. I whimper, unconsciously. Josh twists his fingers again a few more times and my hips automatically buck upward.

  
Then he pulls out, much to my confusion. But I can feel his hardness pressed against me, and I see the flames in his eyes, so I understand. With one hand I unzip his pants, and pull them off along with his undies in one swift motion. He grins, kicking them to the floor, and then, all at once, he is inside me again. My eyes roll back as I feel him enter me, and I gasp when he shifts even the slightest amount. It’s proving to be often now that he is pushing in and out of me swiftly, getting deeper with every thrust, and my whimpers meld together into one continuous moan. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily as he exerts himself. I go to reach for his neck but my hand meets his face, my index and middle fingers colliding with his lips. I am about to apologize when all at once Josh envelopes them in his mouth and I feel them hitting the back of his throat. I don’t know why, but it feels so good. His tongue dances around my fingers and his lips tighten around them – Josh is blowing my fingers. The mere thought off it coupled with the actual feeling of the act make me shudder and moan deeply. Suddenly, Josh finds my sweet spot and there are explosions behind my eyes. My brain can’t handle it: it spins and I feel like I’m falling, and all at once my muscles contract and there is warm, sticky liquid all over us. Josh releases my fingers from his mouth, letting out a gasp and presses deeper into me, his muscles shudder and then relax, and he lets out a moan so deep it makes me shudder, too.

  
He collapses next to me, chest rising and falling rapidly. I move over to allow him more space, but he pulls me into his arm instead. His heart beats erratically against my ear. He lets out a happy sigh, and kisses me chastely.

  
“Is that what you wanted, Babyboy?”

  
I groan, “Don’t get me going again unless you plan on carrying through.”

  
He laughs, “Just give me a minute to cool off,” and winks sexily.

  
I watch him lying there, his face relaxed, but the corners of his mouth curled up into a small smile. I lie against him and smile into his neck.

  
“Hi” Josh says, his voice deep and husky. I can feel it vibrating through me all the way to my toes.

  
“Hi” I reply, my own voice sounding giddy in my throat.

  
I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, taking in his unique Josh smell, and all at once I am overcome by this unexpected sense of familiarity.

 

* * *

 

 

“RISE AND SHINE, LADIES!” The guard rattles his baton on the bars of our cell.

  
Josh and I wake at the same time, finding ourselves still naked and still huddled together on Josh’s bottom bunk. As soon as the guard moves on down the corridor I sit upright and stretch. Josh sits up beside me and gives me a gentle hug. He’s warm, and groggy, and comfortable.

  
“We should probably head straight to the showers,” Josh says, planting a kiss on my shoulder.

  
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” I say, glancing down at my stomach and then his, where I spilled over us both last night.

  
Josh just smiles at me as we get up and pull our clothes on, making our way quickly towards the showers. It’s a close call, because the guard in the shower corridor hasn’t left yet and we almost run right into him. But, finally, we are under the steaming hot water.

  
The water feels good on my skin, running over all my tense muscles and bruises and making me feel almost human again. I hurt in the weirdest places after last night, but it makes me smile as I remember. Josh comes up and soaps my back for me.

  
“Hey, Josh?” He makes me feel so safe, why wouldn’t I be okay with telling him?

  
“Yeah?” He says, rinsing the foam from my back. His hands wrap around me and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

  
“I want to tell you something… Something personal.”

  
“Sure, you can tell me anything, Tyler.”

  
_Here goes nothing_

  
“I have these nightmares…”

  
“Yeah, I noticed…” He kisses my neck.

  
“Well, I struggle to sleep because of them. They always wake me up and to be honest they scare me. It’s always the same nightmare, though. I kinda feel like it’s a _premonition_ or whatever?” That last part comes out as a question rather than a statement. I guess I’m not entirely convinced myself yet. “Thing is, in this nightmare, I’m killing someone… And, I’m… Not hating it…”

  
Josh is silent for a really long time, so I turn to face him.

  
He’s staring at me the way he does, but this time there’s something else. Doubt maybe?

  
“I…” He starts, his face painting an expression of sympathy now rather than doubt.

  
I stop him, holding my hand in the air and hanging my head.

  
“I can’t believe I was stupid enough to.. I mean why did I think you would… Oh forget it.”

  
“Tyler, wait!”

  
_Too little, too late_

  
I’m embarrassed, and humiliated, and I can feel my face burning red. I leave the water, grab my towel and my jumpsuit and run from the bathroom. I find a secluded corner and pull my jumpsuit on without properly drying myself, the way Josh tends to do after we shower. I dump the towel and make my way toward the cafeteria. I would rather eat a mound of the gloop they feed us here than see the look on Josh’s face again. Either way, I may as well eat something.

  
But things are never this easy, even when, like now, they are anything but easy.

  
Pete and Brendon come searching for me and, unfortunately for me, they find me in the north corridor. They wear the same grimacing expressions on their faces, and they come with the intent to do more than harm me.

  
“Well, well, if it isn’t our favourite bitch.” Brendon grins, slapping me on the back.

  
“I think it’s time we have a little fun again. Don’t you, Joseph?” Pete comes close with his face inches from mine.

  
‘”What, like, Monopoly?”

  
That’s what I was looking for. A punch in the face. I feel myself falling, hoping this time I’ll be blacked out for the whole thing.

  
But I don’t.

 

  
I fight the urge to scream when I come to. It’s dark, and musty-smelling. We must behind the guard tower on the east-side of the block. It’s one of Pete’s favourite spots. A hand is gripping me by the neck, and someone has both of my arms pinned above my head. The pain is so blinding that I can barely tell where it’s coming from. I try to complete my checklist of vitals – disappearing into my headspace and scanning myself for injuries – but all I can feel is unbearable agony from my waist down.

  
I can’t tell how many there are around me this time, and my ears are ringing still from the punch to the face. Pete is definitely there; he wouldn’t give up the opportunity to molest me. Brendon is probably here, too, since he’s always stuck to Pete like an over-protective girlfriend. I hear Alex’s grunting, so he is probably taking his turn.

  
And here I am, pinned face-down on top of who-knows-what and having my stomach cut open by whatever it is I am pressed against. I’m right where I always end up – at the receiving end of molestation. _Tyler Joseph, the perpetual rape victim._

  
My eyes are squeezed shut, but I know something is happening. Whoever was inside me a moment ago pulled out very suddenly, and whoever is holding my wrists gives them one last disdainfully crushing grip before letting go. I feel the group disperse, and then I hear a ruckus. Pete and Brendon’s unmistakable grunting echoes through the grounds while the crunching of bones and the dull thumping of fists becomes lost in the ringing of my ears. I manage to fall to the ground and struggle to open my eyes. It’s like one of the cafeteria riots, but on a smaller scale and with only one guard against the five big guys who were on me moments before.

  
The guard is the same one who knocked Pete out the last time he beat on me, and right now she is swinging her baton and tazing the guys as if her life depends on it. The noise dies down after a while, apart from the groaning of one of the guys, and I feel a soft pair of hands take me by the shoulders and help me up.

  
The blonde guard gives me a quick concerned smile before she gently leads me across the grounds to the sickbay. I want to thank her for saving my ass yet again, but I can barely walk, so I doubt I will be able to form coherent sentences. I settle on giving her a grateful look, but I’m sure it comes out looking more pained than anything else.

  
When I am finally lying down, I feel all the cuts and bruises for the unbearable excruciating pain that they actually are. Someone injects me with anaesthetic and before long I feel my eyes fall closed and unconsciousness overcomes me.

 

* * *

 

  
  
I stay in the sickbay for a whole week, having lost my appetite and my motivation for doing anything at all. All I really want to do is sleep, without dreaming, without being woken by the nurse every two hours and without constantly replaying in my mind the last conversation I had with Josh. I try not to think about it at all. My stomach twists, my eyes sting, my throat goes dry and my heart aches whenever I think about it – about the way Josh just stared at me. Like, sure, maybe he wasn’t sure what to say, but the minute I had mentioned the damn nightmare the expression on his face changed. He was blank, hesitant in a way, but mostly he just looked… Terrified. So, it isn’t much of a surprise that he hasn’t come to see me, really. If he had come, I don’t think I would have been able to even look him in the eye anyway.

  
I lie facing the wall, with the thin blanket pulled up over my head and my knees pulled up gingerly to my chest. Everything hurts. I can’t even count the number of stitches in my flesh, or the percent of my skin that is blue from bruises. There are only four of my ribs that aren’t broken this time, but my nose is broken yet again so that kind of makes up the injury count. The drugs they have me on aren’t strong enough to allow me complete freedom from the pain, but they make my head feel like mashed potatoes. I don’t mind it – mashed potatoes are better than emotion and, right now, I’m too scared to feel the true depth of all the emotion that leaks from my psyche.

  
I hear footsteps outside my door and my heart creeps into my throat. It drops again unexpectedly when the night nurse announces her presence and begins to scribble in my file and check my vitals. I could curse my brain’s ambivalence sometimes. One minute it panics when it thinks Josh might actually be visiting me and the next it decides I should be disappointed that he isn’t in fact here. I sigh, a heavy, dirty sigh.

  
“Can I get you anything, Tyler?” the nurse offers.

  
I have been in here more times than I can count, so I feel a bit ashamed of the fact that I don’t know any of the staff’s names while they know mine. I convince myself rather that since I am their patient they _have_ to know my name.

  
“No, thank you.” I mumble.

  
She shuffles her way back over to the door before I turn back over.

  
“May just some water, please?”

  
She smiles a small, genuine smile, “Sure. I’ll be right back, then.”

  
I watch her leave and then slowly, with gritted teeth and shaking muscles, lift myself into a sitting position. Its dark in the sickbay, but I can make out the shape of the chair in the corner of the room where my newly-washed orange jumpsuit lies folded, waiting to be put on. My stomach hurts as I sit up, and itches where the line of stitches is covered by gauze and tape. Even in the dim light I can see that my chest is blue and black and purple in patches. My muscles shake from exertion, even when I do my best to relax them. I haven’t eaten anything in days, but the mere thought of food makes my insides clench and bile rise in my throat. I choke it down, trying to think of anything other than food, but my mind decides to torture me even more by pulling a memory of Josh to the forefront.

  
He’s lying on my lap, his blue hair a cloudy silhouette in the darkness. He’s drifting off; his eyes are closed and he looks eternally peaceful. I’m singing softly for him, a stupid song that I must’ve heard on the radio at some point, and curling my fingers through his bright blue strands.

  
I felt so comfortable then. There was something so easy about being that close with Josh; but now in the sickbay with a body full of scars and bruises, I just feel alone and uneasy and like the world might spill through my eyes if I’m not squeezing them tightly shut.

  
The nurse returns just in time, with a pitcher of cold water and a plastic cup. She fills the cup quickly when she sees I’m in pain and I take it from her gratefully, downing it in a few big gulps. The cool liquid eases my muscles and my throat, settling my stomach but, leaving me feeling bloated and queasy.

  
“Feeling a bit better, Tyler?”

  
I shake my head, “Yes and no.”

  
She nods, understanding. “Well, I will be back in forty-five minutes to check in. Try and get some actual sleep now, okay?”

  
“Thank you for the water.” I say, giving her my best smile, despite the pain.

  
She smiles wide in return, her eyes twinkle and she tucks her hair behind her ear, “You’re welcome, Tyler.”

  
I lie down again slowly, and try not to whimper out loud as my body aches. Then, with my stomach bloated and my muscles only a little more relaxed, I somehow manage to fall asleep properly.

 

* * *

  
  
I’m in pain. My muscles shake and shudder as I walk down the quiet corridor towards my cell.

  
The cell I share with Josh.

  
Josh who probably thinks I’m crazy.

  
_Great_.

  
The guard slides the gate open and I walk in, my eyes fixed to the floor, not wanting the inevitable awkward staring competition to begin just yet. I slip my hands though the bars behind me once they close and the guard removes my cuffs. I wait for him to leave before stepping towards the basin in the corner. The cool water makes my hands ache more, so I give up and turn to climb into my bunk. But Josh is right there, less than a foot away, looking sorry for himself.

  
“Tyler, are you okay? I was worried sick about you.”

  
_Then why didn’t you come visit me_? I think, but I know it’s because I wouldn’t have wanted to see him anyway. I don’t want to see him now either.

  
“Excuse me,” I cough out, “Could you please move.”

  
Josh steps back, an awkward sluggish movement that is painted with reluctance and hesitation. I do my best to pay no mind to him, moving past him and using the railings of the bunks as a ladder, the way I always do.

  
“We need to talk.”

  
I freeze, half way between his bunk and mine. I sigh. “No, we really don’t.”

  
I hear him coming closer and my muscles immediately tense up.

  
“Tyler, why are you in here?”

  
Okay, I have to admit, I didn’t see that question coming. I relax slightly – as much as I can in the current situation – and sigh.

  
“I burned down a treehouse that started a major forest fire and it caused some kid to die.”

  
He’s silent again. I hate it when he leaves things hanging in the air like that, like he did in the showers.

  
“Tyler,” I was wrong; hearing his voice, hearing him say my name, is worse. “Tyler, you’re wrong. Don’t you think you would’ve been out of here by now if those were your crimes? _If you were sentenced according to those crimes_?”

  
“What are you talking about?” I step down from the railings and turn to face him. His face is blank, but his dark eyes are glassy, searching, knowing.

  
“Tyler, you’ve been in here for ten years – ten years without the opportunity for parole. For arson and involuntary manslaughter?”

  
“What are you saying?” I feel my stomach begin to fall, as if it knows something I don’t.

  
“Tyler, Babyboy, you don’t remember? You don’t remember the fight?”

  
I feel my face burning up. It’s like his words are stoking some furnace deep inside me. “What are you _talking about_? What are you _saying_?”

  
“Tyler—“

  
“STOP SAYING MY NAME. JUST _TELL ME_ WHAT IT IS EXACTLY THAT YOU ARE ACCUSING ME OF.”

  
I shout, but the tremble in my voice is audible and evident. My body begins to shake slightly, like a vibration or energy building up.

  
“I’m sorry, Ty—I’m sorry. Your nightmares aren’t premonitions. They’re what happens when the wall you put up to hold back traumatic memories starts to crumble.”

  
I stare at him. I can’t fully compute what he’s saying. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.

  
“Stop.” I say, my voice quiet, “Stop it. You don’t know me. Who are you to tell me what I have and haven’t done?”

  
He holds out a hand to rest on my arm, but I pull myself away.

  
“Don’t touch me. You’re a liar.”

  
He shakes his head, about to make some new and improved excuse, but I can’t bare to hear it.

  
“No. Don’t talk. Don’t speak, don’t lie. Don’t pretend to know my sins. Just leave me alone.”

  
Again, he stares at me with those dark eyes of his. It makes me so mad. I turn, my hands in fists and shaking at my sides, and make my way back up the bunk railings.

  
“Tyler, you killed someone.”

  
I snap.

  
My body spins around to face him, lunging out at him and making him fall backwards onto the concrete floor with a thud. My fists fly, making contact with his face, his stomach, and it’s like I’m not even there, but entirely there at the same time. All I feel is red, hot, angry. I am a fire, burning everything I touch. I’m out of control.

  
Josh struggles under me as my hands wrap around his throat. My muscles ache, and so does every bone in my body, but I don’t care. I don’t feel it. I feel him, under me, fighting my weight, arms flailing out at his sides.

  
The kicking stops after about a minute.

  
My lungs burn as they struggle to pull in more oxygen than they can handle. My heart thumps wildly, my stomach pulls open again where it is not yet fully healed, and blood begins to soak my clothes.

  
After that, when I let go, he just lies there, silent and still. Panic rages through my veins, my hands shake, and all around me starts to fade away until all I can see is Josh, lying there, a halo of bright blue in the half-light. _Dead_.

  
Words tumble out of my mouth, a perpetual stream of panic and remorse that I don’t realize I am saying out loud at first. _What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?_ My head spins out of control, burning hot from within as I suddenly remember everything. I sink, my back sliding down the wall till I am a bundle on the floor. Josh was right. I did kill someone. I killed him. But… Not now, not like this…

  
No.

 

* * *

 

 

Blue hair whips around the corner, at the edge of my periphery.

  
Instinctively, I turn my head and stare. Then I kick myself mentally for the third time today.

  
_Stop it, Tyler. He isn’t here._

  
I turn my attention back to the plate of indistinguishable food in front of me. I’m not hungry, but I can feel the warden’s eyes watching me. I haven’t eaten since that night. My bruises have faded, but now when I look down all I see is skin and bones, my tattoos as loose-fitting as my jumpsuit. I close my eyes and pretend the spoon going into my mouth is full to the brim with my mother’s delicious soup. It doesn’t help. I didn’t really expect it to, since I barely remember the soup at all, but it was worth a shot. I immediately know I’m wrong because I find myself hunched over, heaving the spoonful back up.

  
I hate this.

  
I glance around to see if anyone bore witness. The heads of Pete and Brendon and the rest of their clique immediately jerk away. I sigh. I guess the only good thing is that they now all think I’m crazy and won’t come near me with a ten foot pole. They aren’t wrong, I suppose. I mean, I had a _relationship_ with a _hallucination_. I’m a joke. A sick, twisted joke.

  
I give up trying to keep down the food and take my tray to sinks, washing it off and putting it on the pile that stands beside it. Nobody asks where I’m going, and nobody stops me.

  
The cell is empty, as I suppose it always has been. I get onto my bunk and struggle to find a comfortable position. My brain refuses to turn off these days, but I pretend it does as I lie there facing the wall, staring at the new addition to my list: I thin, jagged line across the last entry.

  
~~JOSH IS REAL~~.

  
I close my eyes before they can tear, and pull the blanket over my head, praying for sleep. 

 

* * *

 

 

This time I know I saw blue.

  
I am sitting on my bunk, trying not to think too much, when I catch a flash of blue going past my cell. Bright blue cotton-candy wisps, dashing past in the dim light.

  
_It’s not real_.

  
Frustrated, I get up. I know he’s not real and that my brain is playing tricks on me, but I can’t seem to shake him out of my mind. I also can’t tell him to leave me alone. Not here. Not with other inmates or guards possibly overhearing me. They already think I’m crazy – and I don’t blame them – but if they heard me yelling at thin air now they would for sure put me in the psych block. There’s only one thing I can do. So, hesitantly, cautiously, I step into the hall.

  
It’s quiet, no guards in sight other than the one who is at the far end talking on the payphone, but his back is to me. I take a chance, walking slowly down the hall, looking into every cell I pass, searching for blue.

  
“What are you staring at, Loony-bin?” The gruff voice of a burly inmate grumbles when I peek into his cell as I pass it.

  
“Nothing. Sorry.”

  
I keep going, losing hope with every step I take, until I reach the junction and look to my left.

  
Blue.

  
I go left, speeding up a little as a shadow disappears round the next corner. I follow it.

  
Blue.

  
He’s standing, waiting.

  
I reach out to him, but he disappears again, around another corner.

  
I break into a run, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls. I need to find him. I need him to leave me alone. My lungs are aching in my chest, my heart thundering, my muscles shake. I push on, rounding the corner into the showers.

  
I keel over, my hands to my knees, my eyes squeezed shut, my breathing heavy.

  
“Josh?” My voice burns at the back of my throat, and it bounces off the walls of the shower room. I find myself relieved by the silence, consoling myself in the possibility that my head is finally screwed on properly.

“I need to talk to you.”

  
All at once I hear footsteps on tiles, they approach; but I haven’t the strength to look up and face him. His hand rests on my shoulder. _No, it’s not real._ I shake my head, but his warm, comforting hand doesn’t leave my shoulder. I tilt my head, holding his hand between my shoulder and cheek. It’s soft, warm. It smells like home. _No_ , I say again, _He’s not real, Tyler, he’s not real._ I feel a tear roll down my face.

  
“Hey now,” His voice is an ocean, “It’s going to be okay.”

  
His other hand rests under my chin and tilts my head up to see him. He smiles, but I shake my head.

  
“How could you say that? You’re not even really _here_.”

  
“I’m as real as you make me, Tyler.”

  
“But I killed you,” I spit out. It comes out harsher than I intend, but I don’t take it back. “And now I’m asking you to leave.”

  
He drops his hand, and I stand to walk away.

  
“Babyboy?”

  
My feet refuse to move, but my tears are doing enough running for all of me combined.

  
“You don’t deserve all this pain. All this hurting, this suffering.” The ocean of his voice is drowning me now.

  
“Then what do I deserve, Josh?” My voice breaks behind my sobs.

  
“You deserve to be happy.”

  
“Josh please just… Go away,” I plead, my tears choking me up. He tries to come towards me but I push him back, “Leave me alone!” I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending. I can’t keep believing. I can’t keep seeing him, and I can’t… I can’t keep loving him.

  
“I can take you somewhere.” He says, his words running over in my mind, “I can take you somewhere safe, calm, peaceful. You can be free. _We_ can be free.”

  
I pause, lifting my gaze till it meets his. I can barely see from all the crying, but I do see a blurry face and a blue cotton candy halo. I hope he can feel my urgency, my pleading. I collapse onto the tiles, my body shaking uncontrollably, my cries deafening.

  
“Don’t be afraid,” he says. “We’re going home.”

 

* * *

 

The ocean of his voice fades into a creek. I can hear it in the distance. When I open my eyes I am surrounded by blue and green and brown. I push myself up from the ground, my hands disappearing into soil and leaves. I smell the earth beneath my feet, the fresh air, something I can’t quite put my finger on. It smells like childhood, like home. It smells familiar.

  
I begin to walk through the trees, grazing my fingertips across the rough bark.

  
My bones don’t ache, my muscles don’t seize up or shake. My lungs fill with ease and my heart beats so steadily I almost can’t tell if it’s beating at all. I keep walking, putting one foot in front of the other, again and again, not looking back.

  
The forest is denser now. I can hear more birds, but the creek is too far away now to hear at all. I stop walking, lean against a tree and just close my eyes and listen to the forest. The birds’ songs somehow manage to contrast and complement each other so perfectly that I almost miss the far-off humming that is distinctly non-bird. I listen more intently, deciding which direction it’s coming from, and then open my eyes and head that way.

  
I get closer and the humming gets louder. It’s more distinct now, more familiar. The part of the forest I find myself in also seems more familiar now. I begin to recognise specific trees and rocks. Then, all at once, I know exactly where I am.

  
Directly in front of me is a ladder, its wooden footholds rough to my touch. Muscle memory takes over and I begin to climb, the humming the only thing my mind chooses to focus on.

  
The ladder ends and there is a floor, plastered with familiarity; a floor that has memories scratched into it in the form of words.

  
I lift myself up onto that floor, allow myself to pass through the doorframe and to look around.

  
Standing with his back to me, staring out of the window stands a boy with bright blue cotton candy wisps for hair, humming a tune so familiar it’s as if we never left. He turns his head when he hears me enter, and smiles at me, holding out his hand for me. I take it, tangling my fingers in his. A perfect fit.

  
His dark brown eyes find mine and in them I see the world – the world as a forest. This forest. _Our forest_.

  
And I know: Everything will be okay.

  
I am home now.

* * *

 

 

 

“Did you hear what happened to Joseph?”

  
The blonde guard’s colleague nods, “So it’s true?”

  
“I found him… You know, like that.”

  
“Was he really covered in gasoline?”

The blonde guard nods, dragging her fingers through her hair and letting out an exhausted sigh. She cannot get the image out of her head; and, thus, hasn’t been able to sleep at all. She wishes it had been someone else, someone stronger, to find him like that. She hadn’t any idea what to do when she had walked into the showers and found him sitting there in the middle of the floor, cross-legged.

  
“And, was he really speaking gibberish?”

  
She nods, but she knows that’s a lie. She knows exactly what he was saying. She can’t get it out of her head no matter how much she tries.

  
_Remember me_

 


End file.
